


Volatile Times

by Cchambers



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: AU, Angst, Canon Divergence, Gen, I posted this on tumblr, M/M, idk - Freeform, so um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 15:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10721853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cchambers/pseuds/Cchambers
Summary: Oh, the things you do for love."Go ahead, shoot me."An already done season two one shot in which Connor shot Annalise instead of Wes.





	Volatile Times

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the only htgawm fics I have left after Apple deleted all my notes so yeah thanks for reading!

The phone rang three times.

  
The bathroom was dimly lit, smelling of dried pee and the water of the sink was tinted with brown, rusted and tainted. It didn’t matter, whatever scrubbed the red staining his hands, such a deep crimson it was almost as if he dipped his hands in buckets of paint.

But this was no masterpiece.

How long had he standing there, he didn’t know, but the silence grabbed him from behind and held him as if he were its long lost lover.

Ring, ring, ring.

His phone vibrated against the counter, shaking slightly from the force. It brought him back, and only until the ringing stopped did he realize that he caused it himself.

“ _Hey, this is Oliver. I can’t come to come phone right now, so please, leave a message_!” A low beep echoed through the gas station bathroom, humming against the walls.

“Ollie.”

Connor breathed, a shuddery sound that caught in his throat almost like a whimper. He inhaled sharply, the heart in his knife twisting, the knots in his stomach strengthening.

“Oliver, you know I’d do anything for you, right?” He was talking to himself, his heart spilling onto the tiled floor, pouring out of his chest like water from a broken dam, shattering and cracking on the edges until it all came together to form one big crash.

_Computer hacking, falsifying records, and that face…The friends he’d make behind bars._

The words were venom, injected into his bloodstream with a needle; a vial he drank from until he coughed up his lungs.

 _“Connor, stop!”_ Michaela jumped into harm’s way, pleading with him as tears ran down her cheeks, the moonlight glowing on her face. She was pleading and praying to a God who wasn’t there.

All eyes were on him, but Annalise had his gaze, the gun held out to him the same way she held out that trophy to him.

“ _Shoot me_.”

It was an order, barely above a whisper, but her voice was clear and she held herself together, despite the hysteria clouding the room like a fog.

Oliver.

She would destroy him, destroy them. Oh, how badly it would destroy Connor, deep from the inside, ripping him apart as if he were nothing more than a piece of paper.

Without Oliver, Connor had nothing left to lose.

He would never forget the sound of the gunshot, the blinding white veil falling over his face as the bullet hit its target. He didn’t see where, and he lunged for Annalise, hands desperately searching for the wound, soaked with blood.

Someone with strong hands pulled him away and threw him out of the room, and screams still rung in his ears.

Annalise Keating faced her death, and Connor presented it to her on a golden plate.

So many things rushed through his mind, but only one fully reached him: Oliver. You did it for him. He’s safe. He’s safe.

The phone rang once more.

He left another message.

“Ollie, I am…” his lungs were heavy with sobs, shaking him to his core and rocking his body with the force of a storm. “I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

The wall was against his back, and Connor fell onto the floor, his knees locking and his legs turning to rubber.

The message was still going.

“Whatever happens now, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want any more blood on my hands.” Connor had screamed at her, rage blinding his conscience. He was so furious he didn’t care how terrified he was of her, or how powerful she was.

Weeks later, he found himself in a gas station bathroom with just that: hands covered in blood…

Annalise’s blood.

He was a criminal, a cold blooded, selfish son of a bitch.

He was in love.

“Oliver, I didn’t want this to happen. I just wanted to keep you safe. I was so worried, I was so scared, and I didn’t want you to be hurt. You’ve been hurt enough.”

How much would this hurt Oliver? Would it be nothing more than a paper cut; or a stab in the back?

"I’m so sorry.”

Connor’s time was almost running out.

Michaela’s voice was muffled as she called his name, knocking on the door.

He had to leave, and he didn’t know what would happen when he walked out the door. Hell waited idly on the other side with a calm smile.

“Oliver, I’m sorry.”


End file.
